9 and 45
by Nvrmore
Summary: What happened that time Sam was afraid of the thing in his closet and John gave him a .45?


Disclaimer – Don't own Supernatural. Thanks again, to all the fabulous people who make that show possible.

9 and .45

_"Yeah?" Sam made a noise somewhere between a grunt and an exasperated chuckle. "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."_

_"Well what was he supposed to do?" Dean asked. _

_"I was nine years old!" Sam paused as if this statement explained everything. When Dean only stared back, he continued, "He was supposed to say, 'Don't be afraid of the dark.'"_

_" 'Don't be afraid of the dark?' Are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there." It was Dean's turn to feel exasperated._

_"Yeah, I know… but still…"_

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"Dean!" Sam whispered rather urgently. His brother was in a dead sleep and Sam was trying to wake him without waking their father, ever-vigilant, hunter-extraordinaire - John Winchester. "Dean!" Sam added a poke to his whispered call.

"Go 'way," Dean mumbled almost incoherently, still half-asleep, with his face squished into his pillow.

Sam bent in close to Dean's head and whisper-shouted again, "Dean!"

"Huh?" Dean's head jerked off his pillow, colliding with Sam's nose.

"Ow!" Dean looked around in the dark and saw Sam standing by his bed, rubbing his nose.

"What's up kiddo?" he asked while sitting up. Automatically, Dean brushed Sam's hands away from his face and tilted his head back to see if there was any damage to his nose. There was enough light coming in the window to see it wasn't bleeding.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?" Sam shifted nervously from foot to foot, waiting for Dean to respond. After a moment, he bent down and retrieved his pillow from the floor.

With a grunt, Dean scooted back toward the wall and lifted the covers invitingly. Sam flashed a smile of relief and practically hopped into the bed next to his brother. After a few minutes of shifting, wiggling, poking, "accidentally" being elbowed in the ribs, Dean feeling the need to fluff his pillow and slam it back down where Sam's head just happened to be, and some quiet giggling and shush-ing, they were both settled in the bed.

There were a few moments of silence before Dean asked, "So, why do you want to sleep in here?" As independent as Sam already was at the tender age of nine, Dean knew Sam wouldn't visit him without a reason.

"I dunno." Sam debated with himself as to what to tell Dean. He wasn't sure himself if he had seen what he thought he saw. He was a smart kid who knew a lot about the things in the dark. But with his active imagination, he sometimes had trouble telling what was a dream or a shadow, and what was really there. After all, nothing was supposed to invade their home. It was the one place he was safe. But he figured other people must think that about their homes, too.

"You miss me?" Dean said in his most cock-sure voice. He poked Sam again. "Go ahead, you can admit it."

Sam didn't have to actually look at Dean to know he was smiling. "Uh… Yeah, that's it." Sam said, his words dripping with sarcasm. The brothers still played games with each other, they just evolved as the boys grew older. Verbal sparring was a game only recently added to their repertoire.

"You're such a girl."

"Am not," Sam whined, still not quite having mastered volleys and resorting to his younger habit of whining.

More silence. _Hmm. Something's bothering him_. Dean knew his brother well enough to know that a quiet Sam was a bothered Sam. "So really - why are you here?"

Sam wasn't sure what to tell his brother. He already felt stupid for coming to Dean in the middle of the night. It was probably his imagination, after all. And that movie they had watched the other night, probably didn't help. Besides, Winchesters aren't afraid of anything. "I just… I've never had my own room before. I miss you being there."

"What exactly do you miss? Is it my charm? My wit? Seeing this face in the morning?"

Sam snorted. "Ew, no. That face and your breath in the morning," Sam shivered in mock disgust. "It's enough to give anyone nightmares. I don't miss that."

"You know, you can go back and sleep in your own room. I wouldn't want to cause you to have nightmares."

"No, no, it's… it's the noises. I'm used to hearing your noises when you sleep in the same room with me."

_A-ha! Now we're getting somewhere_. "My noises, huh?" Dean feigned offence. "So, is it the lack of my soothing sounds that you miss… or is it that you hearing other sounds instead?"

"I dunno… Both, maybe." Sam thought about this for a few seconds. "New sounds. There's sounds I'm not used to."

"Well, you didn't seem to be bothered our first week here. Did they start after we got here?"

Sam thought quietly, mulling over how to answer the question. He just realized how Dean had subtly corralled him into telling him the real reason he was there. If he said the noises were new, then Dean would want to get Dad involved. But he didn't want his own stupid fears blown out of proportion. He just wanted a peaceful night's sleep. "I probably just didn't notice them at first."

"Mm-hmm. Okay." Dean let it drop there, recognizing that Sam wasn't ready to talk about it.

The next three nights followed the same pattern. At some point, Sam would wake Dean up and crawl into bed with him. Dean was getting worried, now. He wasn't sure if it really was something in Sam's room or if it was something going on at school that had Sam bothered. It was hard to tell with Sam. Things he was quiet about during the day sometimes came as nightmares during the night. Dean continued to ask questions and gently push for information when the opportunity arose. He was getting frustrated with himself for not being able to get Sam to talk and his patience was wearing thin.

When the weekend came, Dean decided a break was in order from their newly established routine. Dad was out on a hunt, so Dean pushed their second-hand Lay-Z-Boy over to the couch in the living room, making side-by-side beds, and brought their pillows and blankets out. He lit the biggest candle he could find and set it on the coffee table. He was pretty sure it was one his dad used for some ritual or other, but it looked safe enough; he didn't think they'd be reciting any Latin tonight. He brought out his secret stash of chocolate, mini-marshmallows, and graham crackers. He also found some toothpicks. They wouldn't be allowed to camp outside with Dad gone, so, in true Marine fashion, Dean improvised, adapted and overcame. S'mores by candle. And in some ways, this was better than camping because they had ready access to the T.V. and bathroom.

When Sam walked into the living room, hair still dripping from his evening bath, his eyes lit with excitement and his smile spread from ear to ear.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "S'mores and everything?"

"Yup," Dean smiled. "And you get to pick the movie."

Sam's smile faltered a little and he looked at his brother suspiciously. "Why?"

"Eh, I just couldn't decide what I wanted to watch." This wasn't entirely true. Dean could probably have picked something; he honestly hadn't tried. He was hoping that Sam would relax enough to tell him what was going on.

The rest of the evening was a blast for the boys. They made fun of the old movie Sam had settled on, ate too many s'mores, told jokes, and made up stories about what their Dad was hunting and who he was saving this time. It was after the stories that Sam got quiet, and Dean couldn't tell if it was because he was tired or thinking. They lay on the couch and chair while staring at the ceiling and pretending to be able to see stars.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam said, "Do you ever get scared of the dark?"

Dean bit back his impulse to say something snarky, knowing that would not be the best way to encourage Sam to open up and talk. "Sometimes."

Sam turned his head so he could look at his brother. His eyes were wide with wonder at his brother's admission. Dean kept looking at the ceiling and waited as the seconds ticked by, wondering if Sam would say anything more.

"What do you do when you're afraid?"

"Well, I try to remember all the things Dad taught us to do to keep safe. I also try to figure out if it's something real, or just my imagination. And if I think it might be real, I tell Dad." Dean failed to mention that there was very little for which he actually came to their Dad. The only things he had mentioned of late were hunts on which Dad had let him come.

"Really?" The thought of telling their Dad that he was afraid of something in his closet seemed embarrassing to Sam. Dad seemed so unafraid of everything that Sam didn't think Dad would be able to relate. Sam had a hard enough time asking Dean if he ever got scared. "What does Dad say?"

"We usually talk about it for a while and, if it's something he thinks I can handle, he tells me what to do. Otherwise he takes care of it." This, at least, was the whole truth.

Another few minutes passed and Dean decided to throw out the question he'd been wondering for the past four nights. "Is there something you're afraid of, Sammy?"

Sam turned his gaze to the ceiling, and Dean's now shifted to Sam. "I think there's something in my closet," Sam's voice was barely above a whisper.

Dean wasn't surprised by this revelation, but he was oddly more concerned than he had been before. For Sam to actually admit he thought there might be something there made it more real somehow. It was now a threat that had to be taken seriously instead of just being something about which to idly wonder.

"Have you seen something or just heard it?" Dean asked.

"Well… I think I've seen eyes. Bright and shiny. And I hear it moving."

"Well, we can take a look in the morning; but I think we should tell Dad about this when he gets home." Dean had been with their Dad on a few hunts, but he had not yet done much research and, with Sam being involved, he didn't want to make any mistakes. "You can stay in my room until Dad takes care of things. Just don't tell anyone that you're sleeping with me," Dean nudged his brother. "I wouldn't want anyone to think we're… weird… or anything. I do have a reputation to maintain for the ladies."

Sam could "hear" the wink and the smile in Dean's voice, just as Dean knew that when he heard Sam "tsk," his little brother had rolled his eyes.

"I'll be right back," Dean said. He made a show of walking to the bathroom, using the facilities and coming back, but he detoured through the kitchen to pick up a knife. He laid it on the floor next to him in easy reach, but away from his brother. Better to be safe than sorry.

John got home the next day. It was earlier than expected, but he looked whole and healthy, much to Dean's great relief.

Over supper, Dean decided to broach the topic "the thing in the closet." "So, how did the hunt go?"

John shrugged. After a moment, he seemed to notice the attempt at conversation and, despite how tired he was, he decided to engage. "It was… interesting. I think it was a poltergeist, but it didn't act like it should. I don't know. Sometimes, a job doesn't end up the way you expect."

"Did you get it?" Dean was genuinely interested, as it was not often that his Dad let a bad guy get away.

John paused for a minute to give this genuine thought. He had gone to help a young woman named Julie Montgomery. She was being tormented by a spirit in a way that John had rarely ever seen before. It reminded him exactly why he trained his boys as hard as he did to make sure they were safe. And, though he gathered all the information he could and determined it was a poltergeist, there were still some pieces of the puzzle that didn't seem to fit the way they should. He performed an exorcism ritual and the apartment went quiet. But Julie did not seem entirely convinced that she had been freed, and his gut that told him that, despite all appearances, things were not quite right. He couldn't find any evidence that the spirit remained, and he couldn't think of anything else to do, so he left. Long and short was that the hunt had gone extremely smoothly, and maybe it was that fact alone that left him uneasy. In later years, with more experience and a lot more knowledge gained, he would know that these parasites could attach to people, not just places, and that sometimes the best intended rituals didn't always work as expected, depending on the strength of the spirit. But he didn't know that now. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it worked." He shrugged. "I couldn't find a trace of it when I left."

Dean caught the lack of surety in the answer, but decided not to press the point, as Dad probably wouldn't explain further anyway. Since Dean had started hunting with his Dad, the two had begun to talk a lot more, but there was still the definite wall between father and son, or, perhaps between commanding officer and subordinate.

"How was your boys' weekend?" John asked in return for his son's instigation of conversation.

"Not bad. Though… Sammy has something to tell you." At this, Sam's head whipped up in surprise. He had been staring at his plate, trying to minimize his presence at the table and delay the inevitable. Sam glanced at Dean, who gave him an encouraging nod.

John looked curiously at his sons.

Sam's eyes went back to his plate, where he started scooting his food around with his fork. "I… um…" He cleared his throat before continuing. "I think there's something in my closet."

John didn't know what he had expected Sam to say, but that certainly wasn't it. Part of him knew that if he were a "normal" dad, he would tell Sam that there is no such thing as "the closet monster." But the hunter knew how untrue and dangerous it was to say that; and, while he didn't want his son to live in fear, he didn't want to dismiss something that could, in fact, be a real threat. He looked over at Dean to verify that this was not some kind of joke. When Dean stared back at him expectantly, John put his own fork down and sat back in his chair.

"Well, why do you think there is something there?" His tone was not harsh, but there was more business than fatherly compassion in it.

Sam was not entirely comforted, but at least his Dad was taking him seriously. "I saw its eyes… and… and I heard it moving at night."

"I couldn't find any animal droppings or scratches, but there is a hole in the ceiling," Dean jumped in. He wanted to take some of the pressure off Sam and to let him know he was not alone in this.

John nodded. "Good work, Dean. Okay." John got up from the table and went to his weapons bag. He searched through it and then pulled out his .45. "Finish eating and we'll talk more after."

Dinner passed in silence, with the boys exchanging furtive glances.

After supper, John called Sam into the living room. Dean followed. John handed Sam the .45. "Show me how to disassemble this and reassemble it." Sam stared at him blankly for a minute, not quite sure what this had to do with the earlier conversation. Dean nudged his shoulder, prompting him to accomplish the task their Dad had set for him to do. Since gun safety and handling was among the first things their Dad had taught them, this was not a difficult task. Sam's only difficultly came from his young age and immaturity of body. But he succeeded.

"Good. Now show me how to load it and take the safety off." This task was even simpler than the last one, and there was no fumbling this time.

"Good. Now, put the safety back on and unload the gun." Again, Sam did this with ease.

"What can you tell me about firing a .45."

"A .45 is a fairly powerful gun with a lot of kickback. So when firing it, it's best to brace yourself, like this…" Sam spread his legs and held the gun in front of him at arms' length with both hands. "Or like this…" He then shifted his legs so his right leg was slightly in front of the other. "For someone my size, it's best to be on the floor 'cause I'm gonna end up on my butt anyway." At this, Dean let out a snicker. John gave him a reproving look and Dean's face immediately went serious again. But he glanced over at Sam and gave him a wink and a smirk.

"Good. Okay. You're going to sleep in your room tonight." "But…" Sam started to interrupt. John held up his hand. "You're going to sleep in your room tonight. You're going to load the gun with consecrated iron rounds, and you'll put a salt line in front of your closet. You will be safe until tomorrow when I can check things out better."

Sam looked nervously at Dean. "Dad…" Dean started to protest. John only needed to look at him to make him to stop talking.

"Look, there's no reason for him to be afraid. If it's something supernatural, between the consecrated rounds and the salt line, Sam is very well protected. And if it's not something supernatural... well, the gun is more than able to take care of anything else." He turned to Sam and continued, "Remember what you've been taught, Sammy, and you'll do fine."

Sometimes, John felt as if he wer walking a razor's edge. He was hoping this would give Sam the confidence to face the unknown, rather than cause him to live in fear. He would face the supernatural soon enough. He needed to learn courage, and to not freeze when he was afraid or run to his brother. Dean had turned all of his training and trust in his father into quiet confidence and surety. One of the biggest differences between Sam and Dean was Sam's propensity to question… everything. John only hoped this would strengthen his trust rather than erode it. He also knew that Sam was a fighter. He trusted this to tip the balance in Sam's favor, too.

Later that night, Dean crept to Sam's room. He couldn't sleep knowing that his brother was both scared and potentially in danger.

"Scoot over," Dean said, knowing that Sam wasn't asleep.

As Sam moved closer to the wall he whispered, "Who's the big girl, now?"

Dean smiled. "Well, just remember that this 'girl' can beat the crap out of you… which means… that you can be beat up by a girl."

They got settled in the bed and, after a few minutes of quiet, Sam whispered, "Thanks, Dean."

"Meh. What are big brothers for?"

"I thought you were my big sister." Sam started giggling.

"Oh. You're on a roll tonight, runt. Maybe you can make the closet monster kill itself with your lame jokes." Sam continued giggling, but hit Dean with his pillow. Dean started chuckling, too. "Yeah. Just start telling it jokes. I'm pretty sure that would make its head explode, or maybe run for the window and dive out. Dad was right, you really are safe. Don't know why I was so worried."

"Or, if it's around in the morning, you could kill it with your breath," Sam added, giggling even harder.

"Hardy-har, little brother. Keep it up and I'm gonna make sure it gets you. What do you think would tempt it most – your fingers or toes." At this, Dean grabbed Sam's foot and started tickling him. Sam buried his face in his pillow to laugh as quietly as possible while thrashing his legs wildly to try to get Dean to release his foot.

Finally, Dean stopped. "Hey, you've gotta keep it down. We're supposed to be on recon." Sam stifled a few more giggles before settling down again. "Where's the gun?" Dean asked.

"On the night stand." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam had pushed his dresser against his bed so he could say he had a night stand. It was one of those quirky things he did to try to fit in with other kids. Dean reached over to make sure he knew where it was. Then set himself up as guard for the night. It was an unspoken agreement between the two brothers, and Sam quickly fell asleep, trusting his brother to stand between him and what wanted to claim him.

The next morning, John shooed the boys out of the apartment. He wanted a few hours alone to investigate the closet and its resident beastie.

When the boys came home, found their Dad sitting at the dinner table scouring the newspaper. They stood expectantly for some time, waiting for some word from their Dad about what he'd found out.

Finally, Dean couldn't take the waiting any more. "So…" he said.

John looked up at them. "It's taken care of." And his eyes returned to the paper.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Dean to see if his brother would press for more information. Dean appeared to be standing in stunned silence at the total lack of response from their father. When Dean did glance at Sam, he shook his head and shrugged to indicate he didn't know what had happened any more than Sam.

Sam cleared his throat. This was usually a warning that he was about to launch into some series of frustrating questions, not unlike the kids that ask "why" fifty times in a row. "What was it?"

"Hmm?" John answered in an obviously distracted tone. "Ah, well, after doing some digging, performing a few rituals – cleansing and the sort - I discovered that it was not a spirit."

John suddenly stopped any explanation and returned to his reading. Again, Sam and Dean exchanged questioning glances.

"Well what was it?" Sam asked in exasperation.

Without looking up from the paper, John replied, "Watch your tone, Sammy." After another moment or two, he looked up at the boys, still waiting for more information. He obliged. "Well, Dean had mentioned the hole in the ceiling, so I grabbed the stepstool and took a peak inside." At this point, John's demeanor changed subtly. He went from disinterested father, to John Winchester – storyteller extraordinaire. "What I saw in that hole…" He gave a little shudder. "It would make anyone weak in the knees." He donned a far-off expression, as if remembering the horrible treasures hidden in the closet-monster's lair.

"What?" Sam asked excitedly. "What did you see?"

"Well, I knew something had been through there recently as there were no cob webs on the walls of the lair. But the floor was littered with bugs and little bones, some maybe the size of a child's finger." At this comment, he reached for Sam's hand and seemed to measure his fingers. Grabbing hold of Sam's ring finger, he said, "Yeah, about that size, maybe bigger. And the smell! Whew!" John waved his hand in front of his face as if trying to fan away the bad smell. "There was garbage and old pieces of decaying… stuff. Not unlike your room, Dean." John sounded harsh, but he had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes, but immediately returned his attention to his father. _What kind of creature was this? He remembered the story about the little troll that lived in the wall and killed kids by coming out at night and stealing their breath while they slept. Was that what it was?_ "Did you see it?"

"Well, it took a bit of searching, even in the small space. I thought I might have to make the hole bigger. Maybe even tear out the shelves and rod in the closet to get a better look." He launched into a monologue about the difficulties of working demolition in such a small confined place.

"Dad!" Both boys said in unison. Neither could handle the boring side-track when there was still a mystery to solve.

"What? Oh… Yeah, well… As it turns out, I was just about to step down off the stool when the flashlight caught something shiny and reflective." John paused for effect and looked at each boy in turn, ensuring their full attention. He leaned forward a little and, in a conspiratorial way, said, "Eyes. Two reflective eyes were suddenly staring right at me. This put me in a dangerous situation. It had obviously seen me. Now I had to do some quick thinking to decide how I was going to proceed. You never know if the enemy is going to immediately strike when it discovers you, or, if it's smart, it might wait and size you up while watching how you react to it." Both boys nodded as they hung on the words of the story. "It made a hissing-like sound," which John demonstrated for them while lunging slightly making the boys jump. "And next I saw a flash of teeth and claws." John held up his hands with his fingers curled like claws. "It swiped one long-fingered hand at me and I had to back away or risk losing an eye. I almost lost my balance on the stool." Sam subconsciously covered his mouth with his hand.

"The space was too small for me to be able to lift both my gun and the flashlight," John acted out the awkwardness of the tight space. "So I had to figure out another way to get to it. I had to coax it out."

"What did you use?" Sam asked. His voice was hushed in awe.

"Garbage." He inwardly grinned that he was keeping the story interesting enough for the boys to ask questions.

"Garbage?" both boys asked in unison - Dean slightly incredulously.

"Yes 'garbage'. Remember I found rotting debris and bones in the lair. So I picked through the garbage and found a few things I thought might entice it."

"Ewww." Sam intoned.

John almost snickered at this, but kept his cool. "Tell me about it. I thought of going to Dean's room to find the tastiest morsels, but I was too afraid to go in there without sanitary gloves." He let himself smile at this point.

"Daaad!" Dean said, embarrassed, but he rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother for laughing.

"I speak only the truth. So…" John leaned forward again, bringing the tension back into the story. "I baited the opening of its lair and coaxed it to come closer and closer. Finally, I was able to grab it." At this John lunged in his chair and grabbed Sam, making both boys jump again and Sam squeal in surprise and delight.

"It was quite the intense battle. There were teeth and claws and wrestling." John did some quick shadow boxing and grunting as he acted out the battle. "It was surprisingly strong for its small size. But, finally, I was able to capture it andforce it into a makeshift cage. And let me tell you… it's hard to make a makeshift cage when you can't use your hands."

"You captured it?" Dean asked in surprise.

"Yup." And just as suddenly as the story started, it stopped and John, switching back to "disinterested" mode, picking up his paper, snapping it crisply.

After a few seconds of silence, both boys practically yelled, "Dad!"

"What?" John asked, not looking up.

"Where is it?" Dean asked, while Sam simultaneously asked, "What happened? What was it?"

"What? One at a time, please," he said, still focusing on the paper.

"Where is it? What happened to it?" Dean asked, being the spokesman for both boys.

"Oooh." At this, John looked back up at the boys. The mischievous glint was back, along with a smirk. John shrugged and said, "It's in Sam's room. I've called in a specialist to take care of disposal."

The boys stared at John in disbelief for a moment before they made a mad dash to Sam's room to see what was left of the evil beast. What they found when they got to Sam's room made them both stop in their tracks. They saw one of their laundry baskets overturned with a few very heavy volumes of lore weighing it down. They carefully knelt down and looked through the slats of the basket. Inside, curled up on a towel, was a small raccoon, sleeping soundly in its comfortable "prison."

John couldn't resist seeing the boys' faces as they saw his captive, so he had quietly followed them to the bedroom. He watched their curiosity about something to be feared turn to curiosity of a much more innocent nature. Then, with the realization of what it was, their expressions turn to wonder at being so close to something you don't see every day. John smiled. It was these moments that saved him. They kept him sane. They kept him hoping for a better future. And, for this, he was eternally indebted to his sons.

"I've called in animal control to relocate the raccoon to someplace safe for him." Sam glanced up at his father, beaming in delight.

Dean nudged his brother, "Looks like you were worried over nothing."

"You were worried, too," Sam retorted.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said with a smirk and he tousled Sam's hair.

That night while Sam was taking his bath, John called Dean over to the dinner table where he was searching for his next hunt. Without looking up at Dean he said, "I know you went to his room last night."

"Yes sir." Dean knew a lecture was coming, but he honestly didn't think he would do things any differently next time.

"Son, Sam has to learn to stand on his own and face his fears. He can't think you will always be there to take care of his problems."

"Yes sir."

John sighed, knowing that, while Dean may _know_ this, he would not change his behavior. He felt conflicting emotions. He was proud of Dean and the responsibility and protectiveness he felt for his brother, but Sam needed to be able to take care of himself. "Dean, you do know that you will not always be there for Sam, right? One night he will be alone… without you… and what if something comes for him?" He saw the fear flicker in his son's eyes at the prospect of not being around to help his brother when something evil came for him. "He's going to have to be strong and have courage and know how to handle the situation."

Dean thought for a moment before answering. He then put on the confident, or perhaps cocky, smile that could infuriate his male peers and those in authority while already tickling the fancy of his female peers. "It's not going to happen."

"And why's that?" John asked.

"Because as long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to Sam."

Again the war took place between immense pride in his son, and fear of the consequence of indulging that belief. John let the pride win out. He needed it to. Dean held very little of his innocence in tact, and what there was of it was tied to Sam. John wasn't willing to break that yet, even if it was for purely selfish reasons. No doubt, if his sons followed in his footsteps, it would eventually be lost and John didn't think he would be able to survive the aftermath of that. So he let Sam believe Dean could fix anything, and he let Dean believe that Sam needed him to fix things. And John began to believe it, too.

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A/N - Thanks again to my awesome beta, J.A. Carlton. Truly this one would not have gotten done without you. Thank you for your prodding and pushing and helping me finish what I start. I cannot say thank you enough.

Thank you also to my wonderful editor, Mom. You rock. And I love your sense of humor. Thank you.

Thank you, too, to all those who read this. I appreciate ya'll.


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